


Not Such a Sweet Thing

by bitscrawford



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M, Hate Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-01
Updated: 2015-10-01
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4907878
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bitscrawford/pseuds/bitscrawford
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She hates him.</p><p>She really, <i>really</i> hates him.</p><p>Clarke’s known Bellamy for a handful of days and she has yet to see any of his so-called “redeeming” qualities. Octavia insists that he’s not that bad when he’s not being a power-hungry jackass, but Clarke’s not so sure. She doesn’t understand how he managed to get so many to follow him moments after landing on the ground when she’d had to fight tooth and nail to get a few of the 100 to come with her to rescue Jasper.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Such a Sweet Thing

**Author's Note:**

> Basically just hate sex. With scruffy Bellamy (inspired by [these photos](http://boobmorleys.tumblr.com/post/122370303856/queerannalise-miselizajane-aight-you-guys-we) and the prompt "come over here and make me"). 
> 
> I wrote this a while ago on tumblr, but I decided to share everything on ao3, too, so!!
> 
> Canon divergent in the sense that Jasper got better after he was speared, but Bellamy and Clarke still seriously hate each other.
> 
> Title is from "Crimson and Clover" by Joan Jett & the Blackhearts.

She hates him.

She really, _really_ hates him.

Clarke’s known Bellamy for a handful of days and she has yet to see any of his so-called “redeeming” qualities. Octavia insists that he’s not that bad when he’s not being a power-hungry jackass, but Clarke’s not so sure. She doesn’t understand how he managed to get so many to follow him moments after landing on the ground when she’d had to fight tooth and nail to get a few of the 100 to come with her to rescue Jasper.

Pissing her off has become sort of a sport for him, she can tell. He looks far too amused every time she storms off, hands clenched into fists at her side and her jaw fixed.

She’s not gonna storm away this time; she won’t give him the satisfaction. 

Instead, she barges into his tent and catches him getting dressed, his shirt in his hands. He looks up at the intrusion and smirks. She rolls her eyes - at least she didn’t walk in on another threesome this time. Actually, she’s surprised he doesn’t have another girl in his tent - the sun went down hours ago.

“Why is Jasper on watch?”

Bellamy rolls his eyes and drops the shirt, his hands finding their place on his hips. Her eyes flick down his bare torso for a second, lingering on the sharp lines of his hipbones leading into his pants. It’s barely a glance, takes only a moment, but she’s sure Bellamy’s noticed. The smirk on his face has somehow gotten _dirtier_. 

“Because he volunteered.”

“He shouldn’t be out there right now. He’s probably still traumatized because of what happened; someone could get hurt.”

“I told Miller to keep an eye on him. I trust him.”

It’s not an answer she’s completely satisfied with - if Miller’s keeping an eye on Jasper, it means he’s not keeping an eye on the perimeter - but she’s distracted. The smell in his tent finally hits her and she wrinkles her nose, covers her mouth with the back of her hand. “It smells like sex in here.”

He laughs and gives her a slow once-over. “How do _you_ know what sex smells like?”

She straightens up, her shoulders back and her gaze steady when she looks at him. “I’m not a child.”

“You act like one.”

She scoffs. If either one of them is acting like a responsible adult around her, it’s her. _He’s_ the child. “Shut up.”

“Come over here and make me.” He looks amused and she’s dying to knock that look off his face once and for all. She takes a few steps forward - she’s satisfied by the surprised look on his face - and presses her palms flat against his chest, shoving him back a few steps. She knows she could push him harder, that he’d land flat on his ass if she put her full force behind it when he isn’t expecting her to, but that’s not what this is about.

She doesn’t really know what it’s about.

When she goes to shove him again, he grabs her wrists, squeezing hard enough to stop her but not hard enough to hurt her. His gaze is locked on hers, his brown eyes nearly black. Her chest is rising and falling faster than she wants it to, but she can’t exactly help it when his face is inches from hers and he keeps glancing down at her mouth.

They move at the same time, surging forward to press their mouths together. It’s messy and harsh, all teeth and tongues as they take turns nipping at each other’s lips. His arms wrap around her waist, his hands going straight for her ass and squeezing. The hair on his face scratches against her fair skin and she knows it’s going to be red for hours. Somehow, that only makes it better.

He pinches her ass particularly harshly and she yelps, pulls away and glares at him. He doesn’t need to know that it made her clit throb, that the mix of pain and pleasure always gets her going. The look on his face is far from apologetic, so she reaches forward and pinches his nipple. He growls, but something tells her it’s not because it hurt.

His shirt is already off, so she figures it’s time to even the playing field, fingers finding the hem of her shirt and lifting it over her head. She drops it behind her. His tongue darts out to wet his lips and he groans, hands moving from her ass to her hips, thumbs pressing against the soft skin of her stomach.

She reaches back and unclasps her bra, her hands shaking slightly when she drops it on the ground. He stares at her breasts for a moment - she’d get a complex about it if she didn’t know her rack was seriously impressive. She’s about to speak when he presses forward and kisses her again, his hands finding the backs of her thighs and lifting. She gasps and he trails wet, sloppy kisses across her jaw and down her neck. “Bellamy.”

He stops kissing her immediately at the sound of her voice, pulls back and looks at her, his eyes searching her face for any signs of hesitation. It surprises her. “What?” His voice is rough and low and she nearly whimpers at the sound of it.

“The bed.”

The corners of his lips turn up and he nods, carrying her over and laying her down. Her fingers immediately fly to her jeans, deftly undoing the button and the zipper. When she looks up at him, he’s doing the same, his eyes locked on her.

Before she really knows it, the both of them are naked, staring at each other and breathing heavily. She lets her eyes roam his body shamelessly, her hand sliding down her stomach and through the soft blonde curls between her thighs when she sees his cock.

That has him frowning. He swats her hand out of the way and joins her on the bed, her legs separating so he can fit between them. She tugs on the hair at the nape of his neck and he growls again, rubs her clit when he bites her neck. A whimper finally tumbles from her lips, which only makes him more enthusiastic. He’s sucking on her pulse point, one of his long fingers teasing at her entrance.

“Don’t leave any marks,” she manages after a moment, her voice absolutely wrecked. It would only make everyone else ask questions that she wouldn’t be prepared to answer.

He looks at her, the full weight of his body pressing down on her when he uses his free hand to press his thumb against the blooming bruise on her neck. “Too late.” She feels herself grow wetter at the thought of being marked by Bellamy and, if the look on his face is any indication, he notices.

He trails hard kisses down her body, teeth scraping against the skin below her belly button, his mouth continuing to move lower and lower.

This is an added - albeit unexpected - bonus. She’s already ready for him and he’s clearly hard. She’ll never admit it but, Jesus, she’s dying for him to just get inside her already. “You don’t have to - ”

He spreads her open and leaves an open-mouthed kiss on her clit, effectively cutting her off. When he looks up at her, she can see how wet his mouth is. “I want to.”

Clearly, she’s not gonna say no. This whole thing has been rough and rushed, but he’s almost gentle with his tongue, teasing her and drawing it out. Every time she gets close to tumbling over the edge, he pulls back and bites the inside of her thighs, presses kisses against the red, irritated skin his facial hair has left behind.

She can only handle so much.

“Bellamy,” she groans, her fingers tangling in his dark hair and pressing his face closer to where she wants - needs - him most. “Stop fucking around.”

He laughs. “Always knew you’d be bossy in bed.” She doesn’t have enough time to dwell on the fact that he’s thought about this - them, naked, together, in bed - before, because he’s pressing another finger into her, curling them just so as he sucks on her clit. It has her back arching off the bed, one of her hands leaving his hair to cover her mouth. He pulls back just enough to speak, his lips bumping against her. “Wanna hear you.”

“But then everyone else will, too,” she manages, her brow furrowed and hair sticking to her sweaty neck.

“Good.”

He doubles his efforts - she has no idea how that’s even possible - and she finally comes, his name falling from her lips.

When she manages to see through the static noise her orgasm has left behind, he’s peppering kisses across her breasts, his hand wrapped around his cock.

“Stop,” she murmurs, batting his hand away and replacing it with her own. He groans and she guides him to her entrance, keens when he presses into her, stretching her.

He stills for a moment, his face buried in her neck. She can feel his hot breath fanning out across her skin and, as nice and surprisingly affectionate as this is, she needs more. So she rolls her hips against his, fingers pressing into his ass.

Thankfully, he seems to get the hint, pulling out of her and pressing in again.

He’s touching places inside of her nobody’s ever found - herself included. She just wishes he wasn’t going so slowly. He’s being gentle with her, which.

She knows she’s supposed to appreciate it, but mostly it’s frustrating the hell out of her.

“Hey,” she starts, tugging his hair so he has to look at her. “I’m not made of glass.” He looks confused, so she clarifies. “You’re not gonna break me. So stop screwing around and fuck me like you mean it.”

He looks a little pissed that she said he was screwing around, but she only quirks an eyebrow and challenges him further. The muscle in his jaw twitches and he snaps his hips forward. She gasps, wraps her legs around his waist, her hands finding his shoulders for leverage.

Every time he fucks into her, she lifts her hips to meet his, her fingernails digging into his skin. She’s pretty sure there are gonna be half-moon marks on his shoulders for the next couple of days, but at least he can hide those. Everyone’s gonna see the giant hickey on her neck - it’s not like they have makeup on the ground.

“Clarke,” he breathes, his forehead pressing against hers. It’s the first time she can remember him using her actual name instead of spitting the word princess at her.

“Yeah?”

He reaches between them and works her clit with his thumb. She arches her neck and squeezes her eyes shut. “Come for me.”

There’s nothing she hates more than following orders - especially ones that Bellamy throws at her - but there’s something about the way he says it that pushes her over the edge, the hot ball of tension in her stomach finally releasing.

She can hear him swear under his breath as her walls clench around him and then he’s coming, too, teeth pressing hard into her collarbone.

He pulls out and collapses onto his stomach next to her, his legs still tangled with hers and an arm slung across her middle. She looks over at him, amused and a little surprised. If anything, she’d assumed Bellamy would get dressed right after sex, drop the least subtle hints possible so whoever he was sharing a bed with would follow his lead and promptly leave. Affectionate, half-asleep Bellamy is the last thing she’d ever expected to see.

And yet, somehow, she finds she likes it.

“I should get dressed.” She moves to get up, but Bellamy tightens his grip and shakes his head.

“Mm, no. M’comfy.”

“You can get comfy again after I leave.”

“Stay here tonight.”

She swallows hard, looks at his face, the front of his tent, and back again. He looks so damn earnest.

It’s a terrible decision and she’ll probably regret it when Monty and Octavia ask a million questions tomorrow, but right now? She can’t really bring herself to care. Bellamy’s warm and solid next to her and the thought of going back to a cold, empty bed makes her frown.

So she shifts a little closer to him and gets comfortable, her eyes fluttering shut.

“Yeah, okay.”

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> If you did, please leave me some comments and kudos. <3
> 
> Find me on tumblr @ boobmorleys.


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